


Behind the Classroom Door

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, M/M, Mild Come Play, Sex, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teacher/student role-play. Sam's posing as a substitute teacher when Dean  decides to drop by after school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Classroom Door

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to ephermeralk for the encouragement and beta! And special love for deansdirtybb for letting me spam her with porny quotes for weeks before I finally posted.  
> 

Sam looks up to see Dean leaning casually against the doorframe across the room. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of his leather jacket, hair softly spiked and cheeks shaved to a rare smoothness. It’s strange how natural Dean looks like this, standing inside a classroom with a smirk on his plump lips like he’s never made it past seventeen.  
  
“How’s it going, Teach?” Dean asks, hitching his shoulders back and rolling his body off the side of the doorway so he can walk across the classroom, eyes never turning away from Sam’s. His smirk stretches into something teasing and hungry, and the weight of it settles in Sam’s stomach like a hot stone. It’s not a look he’s used to seeing thrown in his direction lately. When Dean stops in front of Sam and places a hand on the top of the desk, weight dropping to his hip, Sam's gaze is drawn to the curve that hitches from Dean’s torso to his ass, to the natural grace and effortless sexuality that had guided Sam through every milestone of puberty.  
  
“I’m almost done,” Sam says, some vague anxiety turning him unintentionally defensive. He gestures towards the desk and attempts to keep his voice even as he adds, “I was gonna call you after I graded these.”  
  
Amused green eyes glance at the papers then turn back to Sam. “You do realize you’re not a real teacher?” Dean leans into Sam, hand coming up to straighten the knot of Sam’s tie. His gaze flicks up and down Sam in obvious appreciation as his drops his voice to a low murmur and he adds, “No matter how much you look the part. Nice suit, _sir_.”  
  
Sam ducks and lets his bangs fall into his face, attempting to hide the flush that heats his cheeks. He tries not to let on how that word has slipped under his skin and into his veins, the temperature of his blood spiking with the dirty pleasure of having Dean defer to him, even in jest.  Although, based on the way Dean’s mouth quirks as he pulls Sam's tie loose, he's pretty sure Dean knows anyway.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam mumbles, but he can feel that familiar prickle of want itching like sweat under his collar. It hasn’t ever really faded, not in all the time he’d been at Stanford, hot desire flaring up in full force the moment Dean tackled him to the floor of his apartment, grinning stupidly at Sam while squirming his hips down like the last few years apart had never happened. Although Dean hasn’t made a move since then, has given Sam so much fuckin’ space after Jessica died that Sam feels choked by it. But when Sam looks at his brother now, Dean just raises his eyebrow, a thoughtful expression on his face.  
  
“D’you remember that ninth grade history teacher you had in Vermont?” Dean asks musingly. “The one who never really warmed up to your nerdy little self?”  
  
“Uh...” Sam wracks his brain, finding it difficult to think when Dean's still got his fingers twisted around his tie, pulling just hard enough to put a light pressure on the back of Sam’s neck. “Mr., uh... Mr. Duchene.”  
  
“Mm. Yeah,” Dean says in agreement. “That’s the one. He was all stressed and pissy and wound up tighter than Dick’s hatband. He kept accusing you of cheating. Didn’t believe that egghead brain of yours was for real.”  
  
“Yeah…” Sam’s not sure how Dean remembers this all, especially since he’d already dropped out of school by then.  
  
Dean’s grin goes wider. “I came in to have a talk with him once, while you were at soccer practice and Dad was still outta town. Told him you were the real deal, showed him that mathlete medallion and some other award you got for being top nerd.”  
  
Sam’s forehead furrows, and he wonders why Dean never told him about this. Or why he’s telling him _now_. “Well, thanks. He did seem – ” Sam’s words cut off when Dean’s other hand comes up to his throat, fingers nimbly flicking open the top button of Sam’s dress shirt. The motion throws Sam, has him swallowing nervously, his throat scraping against Dean’s fingers. “Dean,” he manages to croak out, vocal chords stressed to an embarrassingly high pitch. “What are you…?”  
  
A pleased sound hums from Dean’s nose as he pops the second button. “Yeah? Mr. Duchene seemed a little more relaxed that last week of school, didn’t he? Mighta been ‘cause I blew him, too. Got down on my knees while he opened up his thighs and let me suck on that dick of his. Told me how good I was while I was going down, how perfect my mouth was, how I sucked him off like a damn pro. I thought he was gonna give me a friggin’ gold star when I finished. Got chalk in my hair from where he was grabbing at the sides of my head – didn’t even notice till I got home. Guess you didn’t notice, either, when I picked you up after practice.”  
  
Sam shakes his head. He hadn’t noticed. He’s not surprised, though; the hormones had hit him pretty hard that year, making him flare up with continuous resentment and anger at their father while simultaneously rolling waves of lust over him whenever Dean was anywhere near his vicinity. He’d constantly felt like he was going to tear himself right out of his skin whenever they were all home at the same time.  
  
Something feral and promising flashes in Dean’s grin. “You get any offers yet?” he asks, teasing glint in his eyes. “Any of these girls or boys offer to choke on that huge dick of yours if you’d boost their grades? Wouldja let ‘em?” Dean’s fingers move up and down Sam’s tie, fingernails making a faint squeal on the slick fabric. Dean’s voice takes on a different affectation for a moment, slightly higher as he softens his tone and says, “Hey, Teacher?”  
  
Sam’s eyes flick up to meet Dean’s narrowed, green ones before getting lost for half a second in the way Dean’s mouth opens, his tongue curling behind his lips.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam says, breathing out the word like a question.  
  
Dean leans in, and Sam can feel Dean’s breath on his mouth, his voice soft and young when he speaks again. “Teacher, I really need you to help me out,” he says, eyebrows delicately bunching together in a calculated look of concern. “You just can’t fail me. I _need_ to pass this class. I’ll do anything, sir, just tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
Dean’s soft begging floods Sam’s bloodstream like sugar, a too-sweet rush that makes his heart pump in quick, erratic bursts. Dean’s always been too tempting for his own good, the kind of pretty that makes you dizzy and lustful, willing to break laws just to risk getting your hands on it. Sam can hardly blame his former history teacher for being unable to resist his brother, especially when Dean had been so very, very willing.  
  
Reaching down, Sam’s hand latches onto Dean’s wrist in a tight, circling grip. Part of Sam wants to split open his jeans, feel Dean’s mouth like a warm tunnel around his dick, and shove aside all this pretense. But he loves his brother too much in this role, submissively seductive and tempting as candy, to just abandon the game.  
  
So he pulls Dean’s hand away from his tie and asks, “Why should I?” His tone is curious but uninterested. “You had the same chances as everyone else. Why should I give you special treatment?”  
  
Sam feels a small huff of air blow against his cheek. “I know I don’t deserve it,” Dean says, obviously trying to sound repentant but falling a little short of sincerity. “But look, I’ve got this brother at home. And he makes it really hard to concentrate on my homework.”  
  
“Really?” Sam says, dryly and not-at-all convinced. “What do you mean?”  
  
The hand Dean’s still got on Sam’s collar rubs lightly against the base of Sam’s throat, creating fever-hot spots against Sam’s collarbone that feel like fingerprints branding into Sam’s skin. “See, the thing is, my brother’s way too hot for his own good,” Dean says, voice husky and soft like he’s on the sinner side of a confessional booth. “And his cock… I’ve been drooling over it since he was fifteen. Built like a fuckin’ porn star. Which makes it really hard to say ‘no’ when all he wants to do is fuck.”  
  
Sam’s breath stutters for a moment as Dean’s obscenely casual confession causes several memories to flash through his brain. Times when he’d had Dean squirming on his dick, panting and overheating and telling Sam to fuckin’ hurry up because they never had enough time, never knew when their dad would get home or someone would think to look inside the dark car parked for too long on the side of the road. Although Sam sometimes liked those times better – those stolen moments, fumbled and frantic, hurrying to get each other off – than when they were alone, their dad three states away, and they could take their time without fear of getting caught. But then, Sam’s always been a kinky fucker.  
  
“I don’t know if you’d know this,” Dean continues, leaning in so his breath sweeps into the ridges of Sam’s ear. “But it’s incredibly difficult to write a decent paper when your brother’s got his perfect, cock-sucking lips wrapped around your dick, sucking it down and licking it up like it’s a damn cherry popsicle.”  
  
Sam’s cheeks are still flushed, although he can’t help rolling his eyes a little. Dean had never had that particular problem. _Sam_ had. Dean had been way out of school before they’d ever done anything. It was Sam who’d had to pull several all-nighters for exams and papers when Dean absolutely refused to take ‘I have homework’ or ‘I need to study for the SATs’ as a valid reason not to fuck around. Repeatedly.  
  
Sam can remember more than one evening spent hunched over a textbook with a pot of coffee at his elbow, his brother fucked into exhaustion, breathing heavy and drooling into his pillow, his body covered in bruises and Sam’s come leaking from his ass. And while those may not have necessarily been unpleasant memories, they were all followed with Sam just managing to pass another test or assignment by the skin of his teeth, fueled by stubborn determination and bottomless supplies of caffeine.  
  
Sam just barely manages to find the willpower to push Dean away, pressing his lips into a disapproving frown.  
  
“This is hardly appropriate behavior, Mr. Winchester,” Sam admonishes firmly.  
  
Dean looks up at him, green eyes softening in faux-innocence from underneath feathery lashes. “You gonna punish me, sir?” he asks, voice low like thunder on the horizon. “Gonna give me detention if I put my mouth on your cock, suck you off until you shoot down my throat? Or are you gonna bend me over that desk of yours, teach me what happens when boys try to seduce their teachers?”  
  
Dean’s leg slides between Sam’s knees, and Sam can’t help the way his thighs just open up, so eager and slutty, their easy compliance left over from a time when a blow job from his brother was an everyday thing. Slowly, Dean sinks to the floor, placing a hand on Sam’s leg for balance while his mouth opens, lips parting with an audibly wet inhalation. Sam’s blinding hard before he can even wrap his head around how hot his brother’s mouth is, how nothing’s changed about that part especially.  
  
“You want me to?” Dean asks, and Sam can feel his body light up with lust as Dean’s hand rubs back and forth on the inside of his thigh, fingers dragging along the long seam leading up to his crotch. “D’you think I’d look good with your come on my lips, sir?”  
  
Sam’s thumb reaches down to trace the red swell of Dean’s mouth, face heating when it opens up, letting Sam’s finger drag against the wet, fleshy inside.  
  
“I think that mouth of yours was made to suck cock,” Sam murmurs, swallowing hard when his fingers graze the edge of Dean’s tongue. “Alright then. Let’s see you earn that ‘A’.” Dean’s fingers are eager and shaky when they fly to Sam’s belt, opening the clasp with a sharp click before making quick work of the zipper. When Dean pulls Sam out and sinks his mouth around his cock, his chest vibrates with a pleased, low humming sound that Sam has a really hard time not comparing to a purr.  
  
Sam’s fingers immediately fall into Dean’s hair, fingers scraping against the short hairs while Dean’s talented mouth takes him deep, letting the head of Sam’s dick rub against the soft inside of Dean’s throat. Dean’s hands take over when his tongue slides down, laving over Sam’s balls. Apparently Dean hasn’t forgotten how much Sam loves that, how it was one of the fastest ways to get Sam to shove aside his homework and open his legs wide as Dean’s tongue drove him useless and incoherent.  
  
“Fuckin’ knew it,” Dean says smugly, lips dragging over the sensitive skin, and Sam tries to hold back an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak. He almost succeeds. “Been watching you, sir, when you’re up in front of the class. Fuckin’ knew you were packing some serious heat. Kept wondering what it would be like to choke on your dick.” Dean opens his mouth to suck each ball in, letting them each roll on his tongue while Sam tries to muffle his shouts.  
  
Sam can feel the build of low pressure tugging on the edges of his balls and the base of his cock, and he grabs Dean by the scruff of his jacket, dragging him away because he doesn’t want this to end too soon.  
  
“You’ve been watching me, huh?” Sam asks, panting hard, hand still fisted in Dean’s collar. “That why you been failing? Too busy wondering what my dick tastes like to pay attention?” Dean whimpers a little, tilting his chin up and flashing his throat like a misbehaving pup, eyes locked onto Sam’s. “How bad do you want that ‘A’?” Sam asks with a little smile, other hand coming out to stroke Dean’s throat, smooth and slickly moisturized like he’d shaved just minutes before coming here. “Bad enough to give me that ass?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says quickly, words stumbling over each other as he nods jerkily in enthusiasm. “Yeah, Sa – uh, _sir_. Yeah, want you to fuck me. Want you to slam me into your desk, split me apart on that giant cock.”  
  
Sam stands, yanking Dean up to his feet as well. “Okay,” Sam agrees, and he can feel his body thrumming in anticipation, solar-flare heat between his legs as he images the fluttering clench of Dean’s ass around his dick. “Strip for me,” Sam orders, fist opening to release Dean’s jacket. He jerks his chin to the side. “Spread yourself out on my desk.”  
  
Dean’s movements are more efficient than seductive, but Sam appreciates the view none-the-less. His eyes drink in every inch of golden, freckle-dusted skin as Dean peels off each protective layer of clothing. If it were up to Sam, he’d make Dean go without half as many layers as he usually puts on.  
  
When Dean’s clothes are a pool on the floor, he leans against the desk, naked skin vulnerable and glowing in the harsh fluorescent lights, his cock blood-heavy and bobbing obscenely between his thighs. His elbows crook back, hands grasping the edge of the desk so he can hoist himself up in a quick, fluid movement until he’s sitting on the laminate wooden top.  
  
Digging his heels into the edge of the desk, Dean scoots himself back, shoulders falling back until they touch the smooth, cool surface of the same desk Sam’s been grading papers on all day. His thighs spread wide, and Sam’s palms slide inside the natural curve of Dean’s gently-bowed legs. Pushing Dean’s leg further apart, Sam positions himself inside, eyes riveted to the pink pucker. He presses a finger just outside it, tugging up to see it shift and feeling Dean shiver underneath his hands. When Sam’s finger circles and gently prods the hole, it slips inside with an easy wet suck, and Sam’s eyes dart up to meet Dean’s, a question hovering inside his hazel irises.  
  
“Yeah. M’ready for you,” Dean confirms, eyes not quite meeting Sam’s and a flush spreading across his cheeks.  
  
Sam can’t help chuckling quietly, thinking about how young Dean looks with his smooth pink cheeks, and he leans down to lick up the salt on the edge of his jaw. “That’s fuckin’ hot,” Sam says, nipping at a bit of skin and smiling. “Were you thinking about me when you fingered yourself open? Were you all spread out on your bed, fingers shoved deep inside, remembering what it felt like to ride my cock?” Sam pushes two digits inside, just to hear the hitch of Dean’s breath, feels his brother tilt his hips up, offering more as the wet sounds of Sam’s fingers moving inside Dean’s ass fill the classroom.  
  
When Sam pulls them out and touches his cock to the slick hole, Dean arches up, heels catching on Sam’s hipbones and pulling him forward even as his ass sucks him in so fast and hot that it catches Sam off-balance, head spinning with vertigo. His hands clamp around the soft part of Dean’s torso, just a mild give where Sam holds on tight and finds his rhythm, driven on by Dean’s loud, gulping breaths.  
  
“Fuck me, fuck me,” Dean chants quietly as Sam makes the metal legs of the desk squeak on every thrust in and out. His cock hasn’t forgotten Dean’s body, fitting in like a glove and angling into the sweet spot of Dean’s ass that has Dean thrashing while sharp, hiccupping noises grate up his throat. Sam quickly covers Dean’s mouth with his hand, fingers leaving glossy trails across Dean’s jaw, when his brother forgets about after-school sports and activities and the very real danger of getting caught.  
  
Dean’s arms flail blindly when Sam pistons in with a short, sharp thrust that makes Dean’s ass smack into his pelvis with a loud slap. Papers fly off the desk from Dean’s hand knocking into them, floating through the air like wind-blown leaves while pencils fall to the ground with soft clatters. Sam lets out an irritated huff at the mess.  
  
“Dammit Dean,” he growls, grabbing Dean’s wrists and pinning them to the desk. “I just finished organizing those.”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer, just flexes his hands to test Sam’s grip, moaning softly when Sam pinches his hands tighter. Sweat’s starting to break and fall down the sides of his brother’s face, beads of it gathering above his puffy lips.  
  
Tugging on Dean’s wrists, Sam guides his brother up to a sitting position, moving them until Dean’s got his arms wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck. Sam darts in to grind his mouth against Dean’s, tongue tracing the salty edges as his hand slides around Dean’s leaking cock and smoothly jacks Dean off. Sam fucks up fast and quick, hips rough as he makes Dean bounce against the desk. Sam comes with a low exhalation, chin bumping into Dean’s shoulder while warmth floods inside Dean, squelching through Sam’s last uneven thrusts.  
  
Cock still firmly inside Dean’s ass, Sam tunnels his hand faster, mouthing at the freckles on Dean’s shoulders until his brother finally tenses against him, grunting when he shoots come all over his naked stomach, smearing white streaks onto the front of Sam’s suit jacket.  
  
Dean looks way too pretty like this, face flushed and chest heaving with spatters of come spread bellybutton to chest. Sam cocks his hips firmly against Dean’s ass, unwilling to let his softening cock leave the warmth of Dean’s body just yet. His hands come around Dean’s back for support as his brother tips his head forward, leaning into Sam’s chest while they both catch their breaths.  
  
It isn’t until he hears the faint squeak of wheels outside the classroom door that Sam remembers where they are. Dean’s eyes flash to his, and in one fluid moment, Sam falls into his chair while Dean tucks himself under the desk they’d just been fucking on.  
  
By the time the door opens, Sam’s half-hidden by his desk and has attempted to smooth down his sweat-soaked hair. The janitor nods his way as he grabs the wastebasket and empties it into the bin in the hallway.  
  
“Afternoon, Mr. Wentz,” he says as he puts the plastic container back into its corner.  
  
“Afternoon,” Sam answers, gathering some of the scattered paper still on the desk and tensing when he feels his brother breathing heavily between his legs, which are splayed open because he can’t fit them under the desk. He’s just about to thank Chad, the janitor, when Dean leans in and abruptly flicks his tongue around Sam’s wet, spent cock.  
  
A surprised gasp pushes up his throat as he jumps in his chair, and the janitor shoots him a confused look of concern.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam just manages to answer, trying to push Dean away from his crotch without being too obvious. But his brother won’t be moved and, in fact, has started enthusiastically cleaning Sam’s cock of any remaining traces of come. “Uh – just… just sat on a tack.”  
  
“Ouch.” Chad makes a sympathetic wince. “Damn kids. These ones have gone through seven subs already. We’re lucky you’ve stuck around as long as you have.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam replies with a wavering smile, trying to kick Dean in the knee but failing spectacularly since Dean’s tucked neatly inside his legs. He doesn’t bother replying that the substitute problem has less to do with the students and more to do with the boggart that has been living in the back cabinet. But he and Dean are ready to take care of that little problem tonight.  
  
When Chad finally leaves, Sam scoots back, glaring at Dean’s smug face as Dean crawls out and starts gathering his clothes.  
  
“Were you _trying_ to get us caught?” he asks exasperatedly.  
  
“What?” Dean asks innocently as he jumps into his pants and zips them up. “You smoothed it over pretty well. Knew I could count on those sharp Winchester instincts.” Sam snorts softly, thinks about bitching a little more when Dean sidles up, chest still bare and jeans hanging low on his hips.  
  
Placing a hand on Sam’s arm, Dean leans in to cover Sam’s mouth with his own, pressing hard and deep until Sam has to pull away to catch his breath. “So Teach?” Dean says with a smile, air ghosting over Sam’s spit-shiny lips. “Whaddya think? Did I earn that extra credit?”


End file.
